Dr. Levin was pacing in front of the projector, droning on about the peripheral nervous system while a diagram of the brachial plexus glowed blue behind him.

I sat in the third row, my laptop open but untouched. My notes from earlier blurred together on the screen, half a diagram of neurotransmitters and a to-do list I'd started without meaning to.

Pick up flu vaccine form.

Check on Bryce.

Finish case study slides.

I hadn't heard from him all morning. Not that that was unusual, Bryce usually went from class to practice and I was usually in lectures and down at the hospital.

We hardly had time for a back-and-forth text chain.

I checked my phone anyway.

Nothing.

As Dr. Levin finally clicked onto the next slide, my phone buzzed in my lap.

BRYCE

Heard from the doctor.

Call me when you can.

I immediately stood up, leaving the lecture hall and my laptop behind as I pressed my phone to my ear.

Please let it be good news.

"Hey," Bryce answered.

I couldn't read anything from his tone.

I pressed my back to the cool stairwell wall. "What did they say?"

He exhaled. "They didn't say anything. Just that I need to come in. They want to go over the biopsy in person."

My stomach dropped.

That wasn't nothing. That was everything.

"Did they give you a time?"

"Tomorrow. 10 AM."

He sounded calm. Too calm.

I knew he didn't know what it meant.

"They wouldn't tell you anything at all?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"Nope. Just said the doctor will explain everything in person."

I let out a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Okay."

There was a pause. "I can tell something's off. Why is something off? Is that bad news?" Bryce's voice began to pick up, and I immediately went into crisis-aversion mode.

"It doesn't mean it's bad news," I said, trying to dance my way around. I couldn't lie to him, that wasn't fair. "But it's not usually how they deliver good news."

"Oh." I could hear him deflating, like he knew that was coming but needed to hear it aloud.

"They might just want to talk through next steps. Treatment options. Even just ruling things out."

Bryce didn't respond right away.

"We're going to be alright," I said. "We'll find out what we need to tomorrow."

Another long pause. "Can you come with me?" He sounded so small in that moment that I wanted to leap through the phone, to wrap him up tight and never let go.

"Of course I can."

I'd just have to cancel shadowing. Again.

"I feel okay right now," he said, like he needed me to believe that. "Just tired. Little sore."

"I know," I said. "Get some rest, okay? I love you."

"And I, you."

We hung up, and I slowly sunk to the floor, my phone dialing before I even comprehended who I was calling.

Mom – Mobile.

"What is it?" she asked, as she answered. "What's wrong?"

"Can't a girl just call her mom?" I asked, a slight waver to my voice.

"Yes, but you're not just any girl. You're a girl who calls her mom when she needs her mom. Am I right?"

It took me a few moments to steady my voice. "Yes." And then I was crying.

"Oh, my love," she said, her voice soft and comforting. "I'm sitting right here with you, okay? Mom's not going anywhere."

It took me a few minutes to regain my composure. "Things are really stressful right now."

"Want me to drive up there?" she questioned. "I can bring you that Matcha Latte you like from Joe's."

And I knew she would. "No, it's okay. I just needed to hear your voice."

"Tell me what's going on."

"Bryce is sick."

This time she took a moment. "Well, that's okay. Sick can be fixed."

"No, mom. Like really, really sick. Like, seeing an Oncologist tomorrow for biopsy results level sick."

"My love." She was silent again for a few moments. "That's a lot to carry."

"I love him so much."

"I know you do," she said. "And I love you so much. You carry so much, my Sophie girl. I'm going to sit down right here on the couch and you're going to unload everything on me. Exams, shadowing, what's been going on with Bryce. Let's just talk through this."

"It can't fix it," I said, tears welling up in my eyes again.

"No," she agreed. "But I can help you carry it. That's what I'm here to do."

~*~

Everything was too loud.

Too normal.

Bryce stood on the mound, glove tucked under his arm as he adjusted his cap. From this distance, he looked like he always did before a game. He was steady, unreadable, focused.

Like the weight of the world wasn't hanging in the balance, looming over us as tomorrow's appointment grew nearer.

And Bryce hadn't talked about it since the phone call.

Not once.

Not during lunch. Not while packing his bag. Not even when I hugged him tighter than usual before he left for warmups.

Now he was out there, twenty feet from home plate, acting like none of it existed.

The crowd let out a cheer as the first batter stepped into the box.

Bryce threw his first pitch, a fastball. Sharp. Clean.

I could've studied him, broken down every microsecond between movements. The extra second he took between windups. The way his glove lingered near his ribs after a throw.

But I didn't.

Instead, I watched the game. Watched how good he looked in uniform. How natural he was on that mound, like this was where he belonged.

He was brilliant. Strike after strike. Grins in the dugout. High-fives on the mound.

He carried the team through seven innings, before finally passing the ball to Steven. Took his spot on the bench with a towel around his shoulders and water in his hand.

I tried not to overthink that either.

Nine innings and a win later, I met Bryce out by his car.

"Can you drive home?" he asked, tossing me the keys without an answer. "I'm hot."

"Yes you are."

He glanced up at me in surprise, a smile forming across his face. "Sophie Allen, don't start with me."

"Just saying, you were on fire out there today."

"Yeah?"

"Girls love a winner."

He circled around the car, reached for my waist, and pulled me in, sweat-damp and smiling. He kissed me like he hadn't just thrown 90 pitches. Like tomorrow wasn't waiting just over the horizon.

"They do, do they?" he murmured.

"I can show you just how much," I whispered.

"Please," he said against my skin. "Do."

~*~

The drive to the specialist's office was mostly silent. Bryce kept one hand on my knee the entire time, his thumb tracing small circles like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

He parked and then stopped, his hands resting on the steering wheel as we waited in the parking lot.

"Do you want to take a few minutes here?" I asked, my voice soft.

He shook his head, letting out a soft sigh. "No. I need to start walking now or I'm going to turn around and go home."

We didn't have to wait long before being ushered back to the same room we'd started in just a week ago. Which now felt like a lifetime.

Bryce was perched on the edge of the exam table, elbows on his knees, twisting the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers.

I sat in the chair beside him, my hands folded in my lap, clenched tight enough to leave nail marks.

The paper on the table crinkled every time Bryce shifted.

I tried to think of something to say. Anything.

But my mind was filled with static, growing louder by the second.

I glanced up to meet his eyes, offering up a smile.

Please let this be something small.

Neither of us said a word.

A soft knock at the door.

The handle turned, and in stepped Dr. Chandra. A white coat this time, tablet in hand. No dressed down jeans and a soft, radiating smile.

I instantly knew, something was very wrong.

She stayed standing. Professional. Measured.

She looked at Bryce first, then at me. Her voice was calm.

"Bryce, I have your biopsy results," she said. "And I want to walk you through what we've found."

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

Dr. Chandra took a breath. "The results confirm that you have Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Commonly referred to as ALL."

No.

Simultaneously I wanted to make it untrue while also immediately spring into action on a treatment plan. To stop this from spreading further, to keep the cancer from hurting the boy I loved more than anything.

My boyfriend has cancer.

I kept my eyes on Dr. Chandra, like if I stared hard enough, I could stop this from being real.

"We caught it early," she continued. "That's the good news. Your symptoms aligned quickly enough that we were able to run appropriate testing before things progressed further."

Bryce was silent. Frozen.

"You'll need to begin treatment as soon as possible," she said. "We'll talk through options. You're young. Healthy otherwise. Your prognosis is good. But it will be a process."

"Cancer," Bryce echoed. His voice was distant, as though he was dissociating from this entire situation. "That's what you're saying? I have cancer?"

And then he let out a laugh. "That's impossible."

I squeezed his hand tighter, wishing that I could make this all stop. But the nightmare continued.

"We're in this together," I whispered. "I'm right here."

The moment his eyes met mine, they immediately filled with tears. "Because I have cancer."

"Yes, Bryce," I said, my own voice wavering. "Because you have cancer."

And then we were both crying.

But I knew that I needed to be the strong one, the one who figured out what happened next.

I knew that's what I would want if I was in Bryce's shoes.

"What now?" I asked, turning back to face Dr. Chandra as I wiped my free hand across my face to catch the falling tears. "What's next?"

"I know this is a lot," she began. "But I want you to understand what we're looking at. The treatment for Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia is well established. It's aggressive, yes. But it's effective. Especially when caught early, like in your case."

Bryce shifted slightly on the exam table, one hand still tangled in mine.

"There are typically three phases to treatment," she continued, tapping her tablet screen. "Induction, consolidation, and maintenance. The goal of induction is to bring the leukemia into remission. That's where we'll begin."

She paused, giving us both time to process.

"What's the first step?" Bryce asked, his voice hoarse. "The .. what did you call it? Inducing?"

That I had to crack a smile at. "You're not going into labor here."

"The induction phase is often inpatient, especially in the first few weeks. We'll monitor your response closely, track your blood counts, and manage side effects in real time."

"How long does it last?" he asked.

"Typically three to four weeks, depending on how your body responds. Some patients need longer. Some can transition to outpatient care sooner. You'll need to take time away from school. From baseball."

That last part hit him harder than the rest. I could see it.

He didn't speak.

I squeezed his hand.

"We'll begin with a chemotherapy protocol tailored to your risk profile," she added. "You'll also be referred to a hematology-oncology team, who will become your primary point of care. I'll stay looped in throughout."

Bryce blinked slowly. "Chemo. Like ... real chemo."

"Yes," Dr. Chandra said gently. "Like real chemo."

I swallowed hard. I knew all of this. I'd studied it. I'd shadowed physicians who walked patients through it.

But it had never been him.

Never someone I loved.

"We'll get a port placed before your first round of chemo," she said, her tone steady. "And we'll begin treatment as soon as possible, likely within the next few days."

"The port," he repeated. "Is that surgery?"

"A minor outpatient procedure," she assured him. "It'll make delivering chemo easier and safer."

He was quiet again. I could feel how tightly he was gripping my hand now, like if he let go, he might disappear entirely.

I found my voice, steadier than I felt. "What can we do today? Is there more bloodwork? Paperwork?"

Yes," Dr. Chandra said, standing. "My team will come in shortly. We'll do a full blood panel and walk you through the schedule for the week. I'll leave you two for a moment."

She looked between us, her face kind and calm. "This is a fight. But it's one we're good at. And you're not alone."

With that, she stepped out, leaving the door ajar.

The silence that followed was thick. Deafening.

Bryce let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He rubbed both hands over his face.

I knelt in front of him, one hand on his knee. "Hey."

He looked up, eyes glassy but dry. "Hey."

I cupped his cheeks in my hand, pressing my lips against his forehead. "I love you."

He didn't respond, just leaning forward so that his forehead was pressed into my chest. And he didn't move.

Not when they came to take more blood. Not when they came with more paperwork, that I ended up filling out on his behalf, his head still cradled in my chest.

He just sat in the stillness. Letting me carry this for him.

~*~

The door creaked open, and I ushered Bryce inside, my hand firmly pressed against his low back.

Bryce hadn't said a word. Not at the doctor's office, not the entire drive home.

Just unending silence.

Clayton was sitting in the living room, his textbook open and notes sprawled out across the table. As soon as Dawson heard us come inside, he immediately left Clayton to come running up.

Bryce sunk to the floor, holding his arms out wide and laying his head against Dawson's back.

"Hey!" Clayton called out, angling himself so he could see down the hallway. "What's the..." He trailed off when he saw Bryce and Dawson.

The way he was curled in on himself. The weight he was carrying.

"What's wrong?" He pushed himself up, his textbook hitting the ground with a thud as he made his way over to us.

Bryce opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but he couldn't. The words caught in his throat.

And then he finally said, "I have to call my mom."

"What?" Clayton asked.

He let out a gut-wrenching sob, his shoulders shuddering and body caving inward. I immediately dropped to the floor, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. Trying to carry the weight of the day for him.

"No," Clayton said. He took a step back. "You're not ... What is this?"

"Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia," I said. "Big fancy words for cancer."

And then Clayton was sitting on the floor with us. "Hey, man. Look at me."

"I have cancer," he sobbed, words ragged and gasped between breaths.

"I know. Hey, listen. I know. I'm right here."

Bryce lunged forward, pressing his face into Clayton's chest. Another sob ripped through him, messy and uncontrollable.

"I don't want this," he said. "I don't want this to be happening to me."

I reached over, laying my hand on his back as the tears streamed down my own cheeks. As I tried to hold myself together, to keep my emotions buttoned up.

"I don't want to die."

Bryce's words hit deep, the three of us falling into silence with only Bryce's sobs to fill the void.

"I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we don't want you to either," Clayton said. And I could swear I heard a slight shake to his voice. "So we're not going to let that happen, okay?"

Clayton wrapped his arms around Bryce. "Come on, let's get up. Let's get you to bed, get you into something comfy. Put Hairspray on."

"I have to tell so many people," Bryce mumbled, sniffling.

"I know," Clayton said. "But not right now. This is just us. You, me, Sophie, and stupid Tracy Turnblad."

Bryce hiccuped out a laugh. Just barely. But it was there.

"See? I know some things," Clayton said. "Good Morning, Baltimore? I bet I could sing it word-for-word."

"I'd like to see that," I said.

"That's premium subscription only, sorry."

I stood up, Clayton helping Bryce to his feet and pulling him in for a tight hug. "We're right here. And we're not going anywhere."

Bryce nodded, his face still pressed into Clayton's chest. "Okay." His voice was soft, still broken.

He reached out, his hand intertwining with mine.

"The threesome is back in action," I said, which caused Clayton to roll his eyes.

"We're not calling ourselves that."

"Too late."

It's a surprise birthday upload, because today is my birthdayyy! Not exactly the chapter I would've chosen as a celebratory event. But here we are.

Teaser: Bryce is inpatient and it's time to start beating cancer. Together.

This book will update again on Monday - like originally planned. This was just for my birthday!